


For Your Head

by eff_reality



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:10:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2211828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eff_reality/pseuds/eff_reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach is doing Menagerie; Chris is in NYC doing press for Jack Ryan.  They meet briefly, in Chris' hotel room.  Our beautifully introverted Pie has a massive headache from fielding dumb questions all day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Your Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuedeScripture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuedeScripture/gifts).



Upon returning to his dressing room after curtain, Zach is pleasantly surprised to discover a text from Chris: _Meet at the Bowery after the show? Exhausted but would love to see your face._

Chris is only in New York for less than twenty-four hours—and spent the better part of today doing promo for _Jack Ryan_ —so Zach had (begrudgingly) approached the day under the assumption that they wouldn’t see each other. He finds that he feels zero guilt in canceling the other plans he’d made: stage door autographs and then drinks with Celia and her brother. He does feel a familiar giddy anticipation, though, one inextricably attached to Chris, and that, in turn, makes him feel more than a little silly.

Things with Miles are going really well, and Chris is otherwise occupied, as far as he knows. Nothing’s going to _happen_. 

Well. Except that it might. 

In previous years, their attraction had carried the persistent, complicated angst of Zach’s college years, sporadic, fierce, clandestine fucks that often began or ended in tears (Zach blames Chris entirely). For a while, they swore each other off altogether (at Zach’s insistence). But as Chris has gotten more comfortable in his own skin, grown into a man less bold and more genuinely self-assured, they too have undergone a metamorphosis of sorts. 

The second press tour had been fun, playful, sexy as hell. They had both been cautious at the end of it, though. When Zach tried to actually talk to Chris about it, it had been Chris who’d waved a hand dismissively and said, “Let’s not ruin it. We are what we are.” They’d hugged and parted ways, and it’s been fine ever since then. No drama. No awkwardness. 

Still, when Zach finds himself at the door to Chris’ hotel room, he has to take a deep breath and run both hands through his hair before knocking. A muffled, cantankerous groan sounds from within the room, and Zach giggles. 

The door swings open to reveal Chris with a smile of his own, though one considerably more subdued, his eyes bleary but still gorgeous as ever, hair a little longer on top than usual, product-free and a little disheveled. He’s wearing one of his trademark white cotton t-shirts, which are impossibly soft, Zach knows from touch, and a pair of sweatpants. He’s barefoot. He looks like he just woke up from a nap. “Hey, man.” He waves Zach into the room and shuts the door behind him, pulling him into a tight but tired hug. “How was the show? I’m sorry I didn’t get to see it.”

"It was great, man, thanks." Zach holds him at arm’s length so he can get a better look at him. 

Chris yawns and rubs at his brow with the heel of his hands. 

Zach chuckles knowingly. “Interview headache?”

“ _God, yes._ I took, like, four Advil but it isn’t doing shit.”

"Come on." Zach steers Chris over to the bed—which definitely has Chris’ imprint in it—and sits down at the headboard, pulling Chris down directly in front of him, so they’re back to front. 

"No funny business," Chris jokes, his smoky purr of a voice tight and exhausted.

"Shut up. C’mere." Zach kicks his shoes off, spreads his legs, and pulls Chris back into the diamond of them. "Where does it hurt, here?" he murmurs, pressing the middle and index fingers of both his hands into Chris’ sinuses. 

"Yeah," Chris breathes, relaxing into him immediately. "There. Everywhere." He goes pliant, arms coming down to rest on Zach’s thighs, the crown of his head leaning back against his right shoulder. Zach starts rubbing gentle circles into Chris’ brow, his temples, and the top of the ridge of his nose. Chris sighs with relief, and they both fall silent.

It doesn’t escape Zach that he hasn’t been in Chris’ room for three minutes and they’re already acting like a couple.

"Your hands smell nice," Chris says, turning his face toward Zach’s a little. "Is that a new lotion?"

"No," Zach replies, surprised himself. He sniffs one. "I think it’s the handsoap from the theater."

“ _Wow._ No frills. That’s so manly.”

"Shut up," Zach chides again, giving him a little slap on the shoulder before resuming the massage. He can’t help it; he leans in and takes a whiff of Chris’ neck, just behind his ear. The scent ignites a slew of sense memories. He shifts, takes another deep breath.

After a while, Chris taps his thigh. “I’m good. Thank you,” he says but doesn’t move.

Zach removes his hands, letting them hover for a moment, undecided, before Chris grabs them and pulls them around himself. The adrenaline of the show and of just before starts to drain out of Zach suddenly, replaced by a calm, bemused affection. He nuzzles his nose into Chris’ neck. “I wish you weren’t leaving tomorrow.”

Chris threads all four of their hands together at his waist. “Yeah. Me too.”


End file.
